Transmogrified

Transmogrified through the written word, I see myself through his agate eyes; Shall I take up then the sin of pen, Transmute smooth paper To invisible sighs? Secrets suit him best of all; A blackness from which ink disappears; The word written down remains only a whisper, The heart has it's stalwart lock and key Which safeguards well it's timeless tales. For he's the unturned phrase of a day, Which empties deep into me my own; And the faint, far echoes slowly returning, For a thousand years: Bedrock of my soul.